The Time I Nearly Froze To Death (I Blame Hawaii)
It is summer in Hawaii.
Well, I suppose it is summer in the entire Northern Hemisphere.
Regardless, it is summer here in the islands and therefore is a touch warmer than the usual warm. My facebook feed has become even more inundated with pics of little bitty bikinis and an occasional fully clothed person exclaiming “OH LORD IT’S SO F-ing HOT!”. That person has clearly not been to Death Valley. Or Texas.
I don’t mind being hot. Even as I swelter in my ancient air-condition-less Corolla and my dehydrated children melt quietly in the backseat, I am at peace with the oppressive blaze of the sun’s rays.
Why? Because I have been cold. So very very cold. And I was not good at it.
Roughly eight years ago, the Man made me leave behind my tropical paradise for the desolate, blustery, not-at-all-scenic town of Rawlins, Wyoming. He made me move during winter because he is a callous, cruel being.
Yes, the illustrious Rawlins, population of nearly 9000 people, a butt-ton of trailers, two questionable Chinese restaurants, and one overpriced conventional supermarket.
Aside from those mind-blowing perks, Rawlins also boasts weather that ranges from 95 degrees on the hottest day of summer to NEGATIVE 25 degrees on the coldest day of winter with the occasional surprise snow flurry whenever the sky damn feels like it.
Negative 25 degrees. That is the temperature of DEATH-NESS.
Now I realize there are probably some people living, I don’t know, in an Antarctic research tent muttering things like “Negative 25?!! Why, when it’s -25 we cast off our clothes and tan our translucent white selves! -25 is a SWIM day except not because it is NEVER that toasty.” But let me explain.
I am from Hawaii where our weather looks like this:
Though to be honest, once in a while the sky is gray and there are actually rainbows year-round. Also, the temperature does occasionally drop as low as 60 degrees (GASP).
In fact, this past winter we experienced a particularly frigid season with nighttime temps dipping into the high 50s. It was ghastly. At this point we were running around in fleece jackets, wool sweaters, socks, and fuzzy boots making exclamations of “It is FREEZING today!” and “Oh my God, my hands are like ICE!” and “Oh, doesn’t it feel like it’s going to SNOW?!!”
Yes. Don’t judge us.
Two weeks into my Rawlins relocation I experienced the sensation of death’s frosty, glacial fingers prodding my internal organs. Having exhausted my sole coping mechanism of putting on more clothing I made a desperate call to the Man.
The Man claims it was due to my lack of common sense. Which is COMPLETELY UNJUST as we do not have heaters in Hawaii. And yes, you might argue that didn’t I live in London and have the perplexing task of running down to the post office to buy gas to make the heater work? And yes, perhaps that happened and perhaps I’ve visited my brothers in the Bay Area one bajillion times and was mildly aware that their homes were not a balmy 80 degrees because of excellent insulation.
Regardless of the WHY (we really needn’t discuss it anymore as it is incredibly insignificant and not notable in any way), the heater improved my life one thousand fold.
That’s the significant part. Focus on that.
I’d also like to add that I not only had to turn the heater up, but had to turn it ON because it didn’t occur to The Man to ever use it.
I often suspect there is something deeply wrong with him.
On a sidenote, during my last trip to San Francisco I was staying in an awesome but particularly wintry apartment and had tremendous difficulty doing basic things like changing my clothes and washing my face and existing. On my second to last day there my brother came to visit and said:
I thought it was a fan.
Shhhhh…. Just, shhhh…